“I am very unwilling, Madam,” answered he, “to enter into any discussion of this point; but you are determined to compel me to speak. There lives not at this time the human being, who should talk to me of the regret due to the memory of that ill-fated woman; no one can feel it so severely as myself; but let me, nevertheless, assure you, I have already done all that remained in my power to prove the respect she merited from me: her child I have educated, and owned for my lawful heiress: if, madam, you can suggest to me any other means by which I may more fully do her justice, and more clearly manifest her innocence, name them to me; and, though they should wound my character still deeper, I will perform them readily.”
“All this sounds vastly well,” returned Mrs. Selwyn; “but I must own it is rather too enigmatical for my faculties of comprehension. You can, however, have no objection to seeing this young lady.”
“None in the world.”
“Come forth, then, my dear,” cried she, opening the door; “come forth and see your father!” Then, taking my trembling hand, she led me forward. I would have withdrawn it and retreated; but, as he advanced instantly towards me, I found myself already before him.
What a moment for your Evelina-an involuntary scream escaped me, and, covering my face with my hands, I sunk on the floor.
He had, however, seen me first; for, in a voice scarce articulate, he exclaimed, “My God! does Caroline Evelyn still live!”
Mrs. Selwyn said something, but I could not listen to her; and in a few minutes he added, “Lift up thy head-if my sight has not blasted thee!-lift up thy head, thou image of my long lost Caroline!”
Affected beyond measure, I half arose, and embraced his knees, while yet on my own.
“Yes, yes,” cried he, looking earnestly in my face, “I see, I see thou art her child! she lives-she breathes,-she is present to my view!-Oh, God, that she indeed lived!-Go, child, go,” added he, wildly starting, and pushing me from him: “take her away, Madam,-I cannot bear to look at her!” And then, breaking hastily from me, he rushed out of the room.
Speechless, motionless myself, I attempted not to stop him; but
Mrs. Selwyn,
hastening after him, caught hold of his arm: “Leave me, Madam,” cried
he, with quickness, “and take care of the poor child:-bid her not
think me unkind; tell her, I would at this moment plunge a dagger in
my heart to serve her: but she has set my brain on fire; and I can see
her no more!” Then, with a violence almost frantic, he ran up stairs.